The fragrance of dark bedrooms
by Obje-re-ction
Summary: Drunken soft porn with Godot and Apollo.


This peculiar little lad was sitting almost hidden among the others (I could hardly even make out what he was wearing, it was all a blur to me apart from something blue) behind a steam of booze, trying to keep up in a drunken conversation while nearly dozing off, basically fucking around half-heartedly with little to no interest in it. He may have looked like one to take both cream and sugar in his coffee but he seemed unbeknown to it himself, especially as his voice was way too big for his small stature. All of this was both hilarious and endearing to me, but at the same time it proved he was not a boy but a man. Due to a couple of black Russians I was a little over my head myself, and thus I went over to him, lay my hand on his shoulder and said "Hey, kid", and he was on his feet the moment I spoke to him. It was as if he had waited for somebody to get him away from the dull company in exchange for something more intellectually stimulating; that was me.

In the kitchen I helped myself to another Russian beauty and he swigged a glass whose containment remained unbeknownst to me. We talked for a while I guess. After a skip in time and space I found myself in a doorway as I stupidly led this kid into a dark bedroom. Whether there had been a purpose behind it which I now had forgotten as my memory was delapsing like the sediment in badly brewed coffee, or if it just was in a misplaced act of fondness, I now felt like I had a responsibility for his well-being. A man always has to sweep what he pours into his mug – that's one of my rules.

I swept the content of my literal mug after having offered him a sip from it, then I put it on a shelf while I entered the room and sat down on the side of the bed. "C'm'ere, kitten" I said and invited him to take a seat right before me. I noticed my hands were empty and mulled over it like an idiot way too long before I found it on the shelf where I left it before, and I remembered it was empty anyway.

After coming to that conclusion I once again pondered over why we were here in the first place. I had the feeling it had to do with something we'd previosuly been talking about. It was… something he'd been through? Something someone had done to him? Something he'd done to someone? Someone dead, gone, both, wait, was it me? I mean; had I been the one opening myself up to him? Whatever it was I'd look like a moron asking him directly about it, but if I sneaked it into another question I could get him to refresh my memory, and besides, if I didn't remember the topic of the conversation there was no guarantee he did either, I thought, and fancied myself brilliant.

It all culminated in the question: "Do you want to talk or ***?" I forgot the last part of the sentence the second I'd uttered it and this only served to further justify the banal feeling of someone emptying a can of milk into my head, diluting my reasonableness by gradually turning my mind into a café au lait. "I can do both" I added – but in addition to what? "Uh. Dunno" wa his response. "How you doin'?" "I'm fine." "Yeah" I said and stroked his head. "A damn fine kid." To this he replied that he was in fact 22 years old and therefore not a kid at all, fine or not. The way he tried to redeem himself was kind of cute and I decided not to tease him anymore, even though it was tempting. I might have been mistaken but to me it felt like something in him needed to be loosened up and I considered myself the right man for the job although I had no idea whether to do it by the power of Talk or ***, whatever that was. Appearently though my reptile brain had already made the decision as it ocurred to me when I realized I was halfway through unzipping the lad's pants.

I gave his package a light massage as a taste portion and asked him if it was okay. He answered it was fine. By then I could feel his manhood stiffening so I pulled his boxers down and started moving my hand up and down while making a circling motion with my thumb. I rubbed his neck with the other hand and said "Relax, kitten"; the next moment I felt his bodyweight against my chest as he leant back. I removed my heavy fashion statement from my face so that I could rest my head on his for added reach and comfort. The room was so dark everything in it seemed like shadows anyway, so it didn't make much of a difference. There was a slight twitch in his shoulders – in a good way I presumed – and giving him pleasure made me a bit hard as well, but I ignored it and he didn't seem to notice it.

As my left hand kept doing its thing my right went on a trip of exploration starting at his flat yet soft belly, continuing down the happy lane of the happy trail transitioning into soft pubic hair, and finally my right hand reunited with my left, one rubbing the top of his personal member with the palm of my hand, the other concentrating on the shaft. I briefly stroked his inner thigh and appearently hit an erogene zone as the reaction was immediate; like electricity flowing throguh his entire body so I kept my fingertips resting there and went on, figuring my work here would soon be was shrinking down into my lap, and my arms and shoulders were around his, almost sheltering him. His body was moving restlessly and as the crescendo drew closer it felt heavier against mine. Both of my hands were now working simultaneously on his phallus. I tightened my grip and moved my hands a little more rapidly. Ultimo, his somewhat limp upper body wrenched forward and I was supporting him, keeping him upright as he came. I got his load in my left hand and without any reflection I wiped it off on my pants.

A few seconds later he was half-sitting, half-lying in my lap, pulling his boxers up but got the fly in his pants stuck when trying to zip them. "Damn it" he mumbled. "Here, let me help you with that" I said and so I did. He rested his head against my chest and said "Damn" again, but differently this time, I laughed and patted his back and I could smell his hair gel over the ever-present Eau de Booze.

After a while he got on his feet, cleared his throat and said "Perhaps we should get back to the others". I picked up my garment and put it back on and responded "Perhaps we should". Vaguely I could make out a blush in his face, from embarrassment, or as an aftermath of the previous adventure, or simply because he was warm; this I did not know. I opened the door as a real gentleman, light flooded in and we stepped out right into it. As I exited the bedroom I found my mug on a shelf where it must have been all along, although a quick look into it told me it was empty.


End file.
